Exit Strategy
by starbuckmeggie
Summary: "To know what life is worth, you have to risk it once in a while." Donna and CJ clear the air. Set not long before Impact Winter. Rating for a just a couple of strong words


Exit Strategy

I sigh, tilting my head toward the sky. The universe always seems like it has an odd sense of humor, but I can't imagine why it would feel the need to rain at this very moment. Is it supposed to match my mood? Is it an indication of things to come? Or is it just to see a woman standing outside in the rain?

I look at the door to CJ's building, sighing again. This is the first time I've been here since she was promoted to Chief of Staff, and though I was aware there'd be security to get through, I had no idea it would take this long to verify me of all people. I work with her _at the White House_. I obviously have security clearance. I would think that wouldn't take too long to check.

I shift from side to side, wincing at the pressure on my leg. I was officially moved out of my boot at therapy today and am now, months later, allowed to walk unassisted. The therapist warned me that I'd be sore and it would hurt and I'd get tired quickly for a while, but my bones are healed, my leg is, technically, strong, and I'm supposed to stand on my own two feet.

I laugh to myself, brushing a few drops of rain off my forehead. There's probably some irony in the fact that I'm supposed to be doing physically is something I don't know how to do in any other regard.

I'm pathetic.

The building's door opens and a security guard I don't recognize ushers me in. I shuffle along slowly, partially because I still don't trust that my leg can fully support me, but also because I'm suddenly nervous.

I haven't talked to CJ—really talked to her—in months. Not since before I went to the Middle East, and that certainly wasn't a conversation I want to repeat. Still, I had this urge to talk to her today, and when I left the doctor's earlier, I tried to call her at work. I was honestly shocked that she wasn't there. Without checking to see if she was at home, I headed to her apartment, figuring if she was there, it'd be harder for her to turn me away in person. I had no plan in place in case she wasn't home.

Looks like I finally got lucky in some regard.

The guard waits patiently for me as I hobble up the stairs, hanging onto the banister probably more than I need to. When I reach the top, CJ's waiting for me at her door, smiling at me widely even though it doesn't entirely reach her eyes. I don't know if I blame her for that. We left things pretty badly last spring, and we've been occasionally friendly but mostly cordial at work—it's not been anything like the friendship we used to have.

"Look at you!" she exclaims anyway. "Walking under your own power and everything." She stands aside so I don't have to lose any momentum going into her place.

"I've been cleared to resume my previous active lifestyle," I deadpan, bracing myself on the back of her sofa.

"DC nightclubs beware," she answers with a laugh, both of us knowing it's been several years since I hit up the local night life.

"Party animal right here." I cringe a little, taking as much weight off my right leg as possible.

Silence fills the room then, both of us looking at each other for a few moments before looking away, then stealing another glance.

"This is ridiculous," CJ finally says, actually throwing her hands in the air. "Do you want to sit down?"

I nod, forcing myself to stand straighter and walk around to the other side of the couch, trying not to limp—I still need to work on restrengthening the leg a little, but otherwise, I'm healed. Everything works as it should. I got used to favoring the leg as I hobbled around in a boot, but I just need to retrain my head and convince myself that I'm okay.

"Do you want anything to drink?" she asks tentatively, still mostly avoiding my eyes.

"Only if you're getting something for yourself," I answer with a sigh. I hate this. I hate feeling like this, like we're strangers and not two people who've spent the better part of the last six years working together and being friends.

She comes back a minute later with a couple of bottle of water, putting one down in front of me. "I was surprised that you called," she says softly, "and that you were outside."

"It's been a while," I answer, grabbing my bottle and fiddling with the label.

"Well, you haven't been very mobile for a while, either."

"Yeah," I answer. I figured you'd still be at work."

"It's Saturday," she says, shrugging. "Pretty quiet there today, actually."

"I guess that's a good thing." Usually, I work Saturdays, too, but I told Josh I had doctors' appointments and wouldn't be in. He tried to convince me to work around them, but I just told him no. He's probably still scratching his head over that one.

"And you've got a clean bill of health, right?" CJ asks, looking genuinely concerned. "Josh didn't go into a lot of specifics about what happened to you in the hospital."

"Pulmonary embolism," I answer. "Blood clot in my chest. Pretty common with broken legs, it sound like."

"Common or not…"

"I'm fine. I'm still on blood thinners just to make sure, and since I'm able to walk around and keep my blood flowing, it's less of an issue."

"I can't imagine how scary that was for you."

I shake my head, waving her off, but truthfully, it was terrifying. One minute I felt fine, the next I had doctors and nurses surrounding me, cutting me open and sticking needles in me, and then I was being wheeled into surgery. On top of that, I was still partially confused as to why I was in Germany, why Josh was there, and what had happened to me. A lot of it is still foggy.

"But, you had Josh there. That had to help a little, right?"

I take a long drink from my water bottle. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Donna…"

"Look—"

"I'm sorry for what I said," she exclaims. "Before you left on the CODEL, all that stuff…I was out of line."

"CJ—"

"I shouldn't have said any of it. I just hate to see you getting nowhere when you could be doing so much more. You're smart and talented and savvy and deserve to be more than someone's assistant forever. But, it's not my business. It's your life and you should be doing what makes you happy, not what I or anyone else think you should be doing."

My chest constricts and I bite the inside of my cheek, trying to keep myself in check, but I can tell it's a losing battle. I bury my face in my hands as I start sobbing uncontrollably. CJ's arms wrap around me almost instantly and she holds me close. It just makes me cry harder.

"I'm sorry," I gasp, not sure if she can even understand me. "I'm sorry."

She just strokes my hair, rocking me back and forth. "It's okay. Just get it out."

I'm crying so hard it actually hurts. Everything hurts. Nothing hurts.

CJ doesn't say anything—she just hugs me, and it's only then that I realize just how much I needed that. Other than my mother, who seemed mostly afraid to touch me when I was in the hospital and mostly hugged me with one arm, the most physical contact I've had since Germany has been from my physical therapist.

I sit up finally, wiping at my face with the backs of my hands. "I'll be right back," she tells me, stand up. She's back just a few seconds later, holding out a roll of toilet paper. "I don't have any tissues," she says apologetically, but it actually makes me laugh a little, and I accept it gratefully.

She sits down and rubs my back as I dry my face, feeling incredibly stupid. "I'm sorry," I say again.

"You have nothing to apologize for," she reassures me.

"I don't usually do that." I don't—I'm not a crier. Of course, I cry from time to time—everyone does. It's just not my go-to response and I almost never let the dam break like that on someone, least of all the Chief of Staff of the United States.

"Everyone has to some time," she answers.

"I'm sorry."

"Donna—"

"I've been horrible to you the last few months—"

"No, you haven't."

I've been horrible to everyone."

"No, really, you—"

"I haven't congratulated you on the job. I haven't called or come by, not even at work."

"I probably wouldn't have had time if you had. Everything's been so crazy…" she says ruefully, and I nod my head sadly. "I should have made time, though. Look at everything you've gone through the last few months, and I never came over to check on you or anything."

"It's all right."

"I just didn't know if you wanted to talk to me."

I shrug; I don't know if I would have talked to her at that point, either. I'm not sure if I'm still upset with her for what happened during that lockdown, or if it's because I've just felt so out of it since I got back. I just don't know. I don't know anything.

"Do you want to talk now?" she asks softly, and I bite my lip before nodding slowly. "Okay. Whatever you want, whenever you're ready."

I shrug, feeling helpless. "I don't know…there's so much…I just…"

"I _am_ sorry," she tells me. "For going off the way I did. You're my friend. I shouldn't have behaved like that."

It's more of a relief than I was expecting to hear her use the present tense and that she still considers us friends. "Actually, I think that's exactly what a friend should do."

"Maybe not in that way, though."

"What way? You weren't mean about it, you didn't yell or call me stupid. You just told me the truth, even if I didn't want to hear it."

"I don't know that—"

"You told me the truth," I interrupt, looking at her pointedly. "It was ugly, but I needed to hear it."

She sighs, looking pained. "I just couldn't stand to see you so disillusioned. Josh _hasn't_ been encouraging you to grow and it's certainly not because he think s you're incapable. I'm sure he realizes you could run circles around him, but you're the only thing that's kept him in check all these years."

"Yeah," I answer with a sigh. She barrels on, hardly pausing for a breath.

"Not that I want to kick you while you're down, but you haven't been fighting for yourself, either. You _know_ you're capable of more, you just—"

"Stayed for him," I finish quietly. I don't know if I've ever felt so exposed and raw. "I'm pathetic."

"No!" she exclaims, grabbing my hand. "You're not pathetic at all."

"No? I drove halfway across the country to get away from my ex-boyfriend, swearing I'd never be like that again, that I wouldn't give up my life so that someone else could succeed, and what have I done? For almost seven years I've given up my nights and weekends, dates, friends, job offers, all because Josh asked me to. I could have said no. I could have left. I could have done a million other things, but I decided to chase after Josh Lyman like a puppy." I can't even bring myself to look at her—I'm so filled with shame at what I've let myself become.

"I'm so lost, CJ. I don't know what anything is anymore. I don't know what I should be doing with my life. I don't even know why…" I don't know why I'm alive. I can't say it out loud, not even to myself, but I question it every day. Why did I survive? Why me and no one else in that car? Why was I spared and someone better than me? How do I go forward? Do I have some kind of purpose? Is there something I'm supposed to do now since I'm the one who lived? I feel so small and meaningless, and like the universe royally fucked up when it chose me to survive. I don't deserve it. I'm squandering my life. I'm spending all of my time working as someone's assistant when I know it's not what I want to do with my life. "CJ…" I look up at her, shaking my head. "What am I supposed to do?"

Her eyes look just a little shiny, but she manages to smile at me gently. "Donna…are you in love with Josh?"

It's not the first time I've been asked that question, but it still feels like a punch in the gut. I choke before I can answer her, another sob bubbling out of me, and I bury my face in my hands.

"It's okay if you are," she tells me softly, and I look up at her in shock."

"How could that be okay? _How_? I can't be in love with my boss."

"Why not?"

"Why _not_? Because that's not how things are supposed to go. People don't fall in love with their bosses."

"Says who?" she asks incredulously. "You can't control the way you feel about another person, even if he is your boss. And I'm not asking if you're in love with your _boss_ —I'm asking if you're in love with _Josh_. Goofy, awkward Josh. Josh who was in a blind panic when he found out that your car had been bombed. Josh who dropped everything and flew across an ocean for you because nothing else mattered to him. _That_ Josh."

I wrap my arms around my stomach, bending over as I clutch myself. I actually start to rock back and forth a little, and I can do nothing to stem the flow of tears. "CJ, please don't make me answer that. Please."

"I'm not going to make you do anything, but you might feel better if you say it."

"I doubt that," I snort, tightening my hold on my sides. I can't imagine any situation where that would make my life easier or less complicated.

"Donna," she says gently, pausing until I look up at her. "Are you in love with Josh?"

I feel sick. Bile actually rises in my throat. I shake my head, my breath coming in tiny, painful gasps. "This isn't what I came here to talk about."

"Sure it is. At least, it's what you need to talk about." I shake my head again, but she doesn't let it go. "Donna."

I sniffle, and suddenly I'm nodding my head. "Yes," I whisper. My chest constricts again, and I think my heart actually hurts. "I am."

She wraps her arm around my shoulder, pulling me against her side. "Feels better to say it, doesn't it?"

"No! It feels horrible. I fell in love with someone I have no business loving and who could never love me back."

"You think he doesn't love you?" she asks, sounding amused. "I'm pretty sure he's head over heels—"

"No, he's not," I cut her off before she can finish the though. "He doesn't. He depends on me. He needs me to keep his desk organized and to…tie his bowties. But he doesn't…that other thing."

She laughs—she actually laughs. "You're crazy if you think he doesn't—"

"He doesn't. I promise you."

"If he doesn't love you, why did he rush to your bedside in Germany?"

"We're _friends_ , CJ. That's what friends do."

"It is, is it? They run out of the White House so fast they practically leave tread marks and hop on the first international flight they can find—regardless of cost—with only the clothes on their back?"

"He was probably just worried he'd have to train someone to do his filing."

She pulls back and smacks my arm—hard. Really hard. "Are you kidding me with this?!"

"Ow!" I exclaim, rubbing the sore spot that will probably become a nasty-looking bruise in about three seconds. "Jesus, CJ!"

"You cannot be this oblivious."

"Look—yes—okay—Josh does care about me. We're close. We always have been. He took me under his wing and explained everything to me, no matter how busy he was, no matter what was going on. He didn't have to do that. He certainly didn't have to hire me. And I'm grateful for all of it. I just…but…if he thinks of me at all, it's as his dumb kid sister." CJ opens her mouth, but I hurry to keep talking. "No, seriously. He's completely oblivious to the fact that I'm a woman. He doesn't even notice when I've changed out of my work clothes and into a dress or a gown or whatever. He might as well be pulling my pigtails—that's what our relationship is. We're friends, he thinks of me as his little sister. I understand how to keep him on top of his job. That's it."

She shakes her head at me, looking sad. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why the hell shouldn't I?"

"I could give you hundreds of reasons—oh, my God, the way he gazes at you, how he smiles around you…" she trails off, still looking dubious.

"He's possessive, yes, but of my time, not of me. So, it doesn't really matter how I feel about him because it's always going to be one-sided."

She sits back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. "So, I guess telling him is out of the question."

I actually let out a huge belly laugh at that one. "Oh, yeah. What am I going to do—slip that in while I'm telling him his schedule for the day? 'You have senior staff at 7:30, at 10 you have two meetings on the Hill, you have a lunch with Pennybaker at 1, and I'm also crazy in love with you. Pick your jaw off the floor and get to the Oval Office.' Yeah, I see that going over well."

She snorts a little, sympathy written all over her face. "Might be worth it to see the look on his face."

"Not going to happen. "My laughter dies, and all that's left is a terrible ache—an ache that I've felt for a long time now. "What am I going to do?" I whisper.

"About…"

"Everything. Josh. My job." It's on the tip of my tongue to mention Gaza, but I can't. I just can't. That's a whole Pandora's box that needs to remain closed.

"What's wrong with your job?"

"It's a dead end and you know it. I'm not going anywhere with it. I don't know if I'm actually qualified to do anything else, aside from being someone's assistant. I survived a horrific attack and I can't spend the rest of my life alphabetizing files. That's no way to honor the memories of…" I break off, tears choking at my throat, and I realize I've already said more to CJ about what happened over there than to anyone else in months. "It has to _mean_ something. I have to make it mean something. I have to make a difference in the world. I'll never be able to be on the level of an admiral, but I can try to make his death more than a footnote in the history books. I'm not going to do that by running after Josh Lyman until I die." I pause, rubbing my hands over my face. "I don't think…I don't know if I can work for him anymore." My heart twists again at just the thought of not seeing Josh on a daily basis, but I can't be pathetic and codependent forever, and I certainly can't continue to be in love with him and not be able to have him. I can't watch him date other women and pretend that it doesn't make me physically ill.

"You have to talk to him."

"Didn't we just establish that I'm _not_ going to do that?"

"You need to at least talk to him about your job. You have to tell him you need more."

"I did, a little, last spring. He got me on the CODEL. I think you know how that went."

"You think he won't want to help you grow in your job because of that?"

"Well, I'm sure he'll just remind me that I got myself blown up and obviously can't handle more responsibility."

She gapes at me, shocked. "He would _never_ joke about you getting…" She swallows heavily, looking pained. "Blown up. Never."

"If you say so," I answer skeptically. He never misses an opportunity to throw some dumb move of mine in my face. In fairness, he does that to everyone, always eager to make someone feel stupid about being human.

"Look, if you're not going to be honest about how you feel about him, you have to at least tell him you still want more from your job. If you don't mention it, he's going to think last spring was a fluke and that you're happy with the status quo. You have to fight for it because he's not going to give you up willingly. He's never going find someone else who can do what you do."

"That's not—"

"Do you know how many times I sent Carol into meetings for me Or how many times Toby figured Ginger could cover for him when he couldn't get somewhere? None. Exactly zero. That's not to say they're not smart and capable, but Josh stopped using you as an assistant years ago; you became an extension of him. Everyone has know forever that what you say is as good as Josh saying it. No one questions your authority. You have a head for all this—what's more is you _want_ to do all this. Josh isn't going to find someone else who can do it, especially not in the time we have left in this administration. If there's something you want to do, you've got to let him know. You've got to make him listen, otherwise you're just going to end up resenting him more than you do right now."

I roll my eyes, even though the sick feeling in my stomach kicks into high gear. "Either I'm in love with him or I resent him, CJ—pick one."

"They're not mutually exclusive. Being in love with someone doesn't mean they don't drive you nuts. I find it usually makes them even more obnoxious. But I know you're starting to hate him."

"I don't hate him," I whisper, though I'm not sure if I believe it.

"Well, you sure don't like him very much. You look like you want to punch him every time you see him." She shrugs unhelpfully. "Maybe some time apart would be good for you."

I feel my eyes grow wide and my heart rate triples. "You think I leave hi—uh, the White House?"

"I think you should do whatever you need to do. If leaving the White House is what you want to do, I'm sure there are at least a dozen senators and congressmen who would snap you up in a heartbeat. If you want to do more for President Bartlet, I'm sure— _I'm sure_ —we have a place for you. If you want to stick with Josh, well, you're well within your rights to come in and leave at a normal time and to tell Josh to go sit on it when he wants you to come in on the weekends. You can live your life. It's up to you—I can't make the decision for you. All I _can_ tell you is you have to do _something_. You can't spend the rest of your life unhappy, not when you have so many different avenues to explore. You deserve more."

"I deserve more," I repeat softly, trying to convince myself.

"And what it's worth, though I'm so sorry about Fitz and everyone..I'm glad you're alive."

I feel like my heart is being ripped out of my body, and cover my face with my hands again, crying harder than before.

"I'm just guessing with all this, because I'm certainly not an expert and I've mostly been doing research online, but…are you feeling guilty about surviving the attack?"

"How could you know that?" I gasp out. I t feels like all of my thoughts are being yanked out of my head and put on display. Am I really that transparent?

"It's called survivor's guilt, and it seems like it's not that uncommon. You've been displaying a lot of the symptoms the last few months, as well as depression and PTSD. Like I said, I'm no expert, but I've been worried about you. Have you…have you talked to anyone about any of this?"

I shrug, grabbing the roll of toilet paper so I can wipe my face. "Once or twice. I went to a shrink a couple of times when I got home but I thought I was fine so…I stopped."

"You might want to try it again. You shouldn't spend your life feeling guilty about not dying, and you shouldn't have to suffer in silence. It might do you some good to talk to someone who can be objective."

I shrug again, though I know she's probably right. I watched Josh struggle with the trauma of being shot, and in hindsight I know a lot of that could've been avoided if he'd just started seeing a psychologist right away. It's not that I think it wouldn't help, I just don't want to have to do it. I just want to feel normal again.

"I really just wanted to apologize for being so shitty to you before I left," I say weakly.

CJ bursts out laughing, and when I look up at her, I'm surprised to find that she's crying, too. "You're forgiven. And I want to apologize for—"

"Apology accepted," I interrupt. I don't care what specifically she wants to say; she doesn't even really need to apologize for anything. All I know is that I want her back in my life.

"So, can we be friends again?"

"We were never _not_ friends."

She smiles and we wrap our arms around each other, and I'm not sure who's comforting whom at this point. All I know for sure is that a tiny weight has lifted from my shoulders. I still have CJ. That's got to count for something.

"What do you say we order pizza?" she asks suddenly, making me laugh. "Or cake. Let's make cake."

"Do you even have cake mix?" I ask, pulling away and wiping at my face a few more times.

"Well, no, but I've heard that you can make cakes with actual ingredients."

"And you have things like sugar and flour and vanilla?"

She manages to look indignant for all of two seconds before laughing. "Okay, so we just order pizza, then."

"Sounds good," I answer, eager to spend more time with her. "I bet we could sweet talk one of your security guards into going to the store for us to buy a cake."

She pauses in her search for a takeout menu, smiling fondly. "See? You just get me. That's why we'll always be friends."

Tears spring to my eyes again, though for the first time in a long time, it's not because of pain or inner turmoil. Maybe she's just humoring me, or maybe with CJ, it's just that easy to make amends. Either way, I'll take what I can get.

If only everything else could be this easy to fix.

* * *

Someone told me recently via review that they could hear CJ's voice when they were reading one of my stories, and I take that as a huge compliment. I'll revisit her more than once, obviously, and maybe I've gotten it right again, at least once. Also, at some point, I'll go back and change all the "CJ" to "C.J." I suppose one is technically more correct than the other. Anyhoo, someone mentioned seeing this moment in a review and it got me to thinking. This is what I crapped out. I've been marking the dates in my magic notebook, and this one only took me three days to physically write down. I have several other stories to put out there, including another smut-fest, but I felt the need to get this one typed up first. The others will be up eventually.


End file.
